Guy Hammersley; or, Clearing his Name — page 96: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GUY HAMMERSLEY. 87 right I should longer keep you in ignorance, although I had—no, I cannot say hoped—I had expected to do so always.” These words only served to disquiet Guy still more. Why should his mother have ceased to hope for the continuance of that which affected his welfare, he asked himself? But it was a question he could not answer, could only possess his soul in patience till his mother should explain. “Guy,” she began at once, as soon as they had reached the little room under the iron stairway that led to the fly gallery, ‘‘do you remember anything of your early life—before you were five years old, I mean?” ‘‘Not very distinctly, mother,” he answered. ‘I have often wished I could have a picture in my mind of what my father was like.” “Then ’ but here the poor lady broke down, and sobbing out, ‘‘Oh, how can I tell him?” she put her arms about Guy’s neck and clung to him des- perately while she murmured; ‘‘ If there was only a middle way, but there is none,” ‘“Why do you ask me this, mother?” rejoined Guy. ‘‘And what has it to do with your fainting on the stage a little while ago? And tell me who that gentleman with the gray whiskers is, and that little boy you kissed. I do not remember ever to have seen them before.” Mrs. Hammersley lifted her head and answered quickly, as if not to give herself a chance to think : ‘¢ That little boy is my son, Guy.” ‘‘Then he is my brother, but I never knew——’ a Gomicboo cS